


Al

by Anonymous



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Here kitty kitty, Koganphrancis, M/M, Pure Fluff (and I don't just mean the cat), Two guys a cat and a bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 00:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: One day on his way to work, Ian meets a stray.





	Al

Ian was on his way into work when he heard it, a plaintive cry coming from the vicinity of his ankles. He looked down and saw a very scrawny, very dirty, and very hungry cat looking back up at him.

“Hey, buddy, you lost? Do you belong to anyone?”

Ian figured that based on the look of neglect about the animal that it didn’t actually belong to anyone. The cat cried again, its voice sounding raw and dried out. Ian slung his duffle bag down to the sidewalk and squatted down next to it, pulling out his padded lunch bag and unzipping it open.

“You’re in luck-I just happen to have a tuna fish sandwich today,” Ian said in a soft voice to the cat. Ian paused for a moment as he lifted the top piece of bread off the sandwich. Were cats okay with mayonnaise? He vaguely remembered reading that adult cats shouldn’t really have milk or cream-did that extend to mayo too? What exactly was in mayo…the cat yelped again, bringing Ian back from his thoughts. “Well, whether it’s bad for you or not, I guess you want the tuna, huh?” Ian said, placing the sandwich open side up on the walk. The cat fell to it immediately, vacuuming up the mayonnaise slathered tuna as if it hadn’t eaten in weeks.

And perhaps he hadn’t, judging by the protruding bones that Ian could see jutting out from the matted fur. Ian reached his hand out to run his hand over the cat’s body, but quick as lightning the cat jumped away from the sandwich out of Ian’s reach, but not before scratching over the back of Ian’s hand. The cat hadn’t dug its claws in, but it did scratch Ian with enough force to draw blood.

“Okay, okay, you don’t want to be touched, got it,” Ian said, still speaking in a soft voice. “Let me see if I can’t get you some water somehow.” He went into the EMT station and took one of the little paper cups from the water cooler and filled it. He brought it back to where the cat was licking the bread, which was all that was left of the sandwich now. He placed the cup near the cat, taking care not to get too close. The cat licked up the water almost daintily, and when its muzzle couldn’t get to the water in the bottom part of the cup, Ian poured in some more from a bottled water he had brought back outside. The cat drank two more refills, mewed at Ian as if in thanks, and walked off down the sidewalk. Ian watched till the cat was just a speck down the road, and then went in to put some bacitracin on the scratch and start his workday.

When his shift ended, he looked around up and down the sidewalk a bit before heading to his train, but saw no sign of the stray. On the way home he needed to buy some groceries anyway, so at the store he picked up a few cans of cat food and one of those little plastic pet bowls that are divided into two sides, one for food, one for water.

The next morning he saw the cat again, and smiled. “This time I’m prepared, buddy. Look what I got.” The cat looked on with interest as Ian pulled out the bowl, a bottle of water, and finally the little can with the pop top. Either the cat could read or he had seen cans like that before, because it let out a happy sounding (to Ian’s ears at least) meow. “Hope you like chicken,” Ian said, popping open the can and plopping the pungent soft food into the bowl. The cat had it devoured before Ian could pour water into the other half. It waited patiently while Ian got the cap off the water and poured some into the dish, and then it drank till the bowl was empty. Ian filled it again, and the cat drank it all, gave Ian another thank you mew, and walked off in the same direction it had gone the day before.

The rest of Ian’s work week went the same-he’d see and feed the cat every morning, but wouldn’t see him at the end of his shifts. The cat really liked the seafood varieties of food Ian bought-salmon was a favorite-but it really went nuts for the poultry flavors-especially chicken-it seemed to send him into some sort of ecstasy, but it didn’t eat the beef one with the same speed or much enjoyment, so Ian made a note to not buy that one again. The cat was looking healthier and stronger each day as he put on weight. His fur was still a matted mess, but since that first attempt at petting him, Ian hadn’t tried again and certainly couldn’t imagine trying to brush the fur out.

Ian even went to the EMT station on his days off that week, to be sure the cat got fed.

The following week, however, the cat seemed to have disappeared. It was no longer waiting for Ian every morning when he walked up the sidewalk. After a few days with no sight of the animal, Ian resigned himself to the fact he probably wouldn’t see it again and hoped that the cat had been taken in by someone-or at least got into a rescue shelter-and that it hadn’t come to any misfortune.

Ian was scheduled mainly for day shifts because his boss knew how important it was for him to be on as regular a schedule as possible, and how important it was for him to get a good night’s sleep. They day shift was from seven in the morning till three in the afternoon, but of course sometimes if he was out on a call at the end of his shift, he might not get back to the EMT barn till later. About a week after he stopped looking for the cat he was walking to the El about an hour later than he normally would due to one such call. He was tired from a hard day, and took a shortcut behind the EMT station, cutting through an alley next to a bar that fronted the next block over from his job. He usually avoided it, not so much because he thought it was dangerous but because of the smells from the various dumpsters out there.

That day as he walked along, before he was could see the bar building itself, he heard a man’s voice talking.

“You like that, don’t ya? Yeah, get in there, Al, lick it all you want, no one’s here to judge…”

Ian stopped in his tracks. He really didn’t want to stumble into a sex act being performed in the back alley. He glanced at his watch. If he turned and took the long way round to the train he’d really be there during the true rush hour, whereas if he kept going, he’d probably get there just a little before things got that crowded he might have to wait for a turn or more to get on a train. Plus he was beat and didn’t feel like the extra steps. He’d just keep his head down and hope that man and his partner were smart enough to hide behind a dumpster or something.

“That’s it, Al, there ain’t no more. Come back tomorrow, you know the drill,” Ian heard the man say as he walked into view of the building. He was surprised to see his old friend the cat, looking up at the man who, Ian presumed, had been talking to it.

“Hey!” Ian said, smiling. “So this is where you’re getting fed these days.”

“Can I help you?” the man said to Ian, in a decidedly unhelpful tone. Ian looked up from the cat to take in the man’s raised eyebrows, then he took in the man’s eyes, which were the most beautiful shade of blue Ian had ever seen.

“Oh, um, no…I guess not,” Ian stuttered. “I, ah, I sort of know this cat, but hadn’t seen him around for a while. I guess he’s yours…?”

“He ain’t mine,” the man said. “He’s just some mooch who thinks I’m a soft touch, don’tcha, ya little bastard?” he added in a more affectionate tone, looking down at the cat. The cat meowed at him once and then started licking its paw to wash its face.

“Huh,” Ian said.

“’Huh’ what,” the other man said aggressively.

“I just, I heard you call him ‘Al’, so I figured he was your cat,” Ian said, not put off by the man’s gruffness in the least.

“Oh, that,” the other man said, rubbing along his chin as he looked down at the cat again. “Sorta a nickname. When he first showed up back here I started calling him Alley Cat, and it got shortened after a while.”

Ian thought that was damn adorable and he beamed at the other guy. “It suits him, I like it.” Did that make this guy blush? Ian was noticing more and more how handsome this guy was, out in the late fall afternoon in a sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscular arms and soft looking skin. “Uh, you work at the bar?” Ian wanted to keep the conversation going, his weariness forgotten.

“Own the dump,” the man said. “You work there?” he jabbed a finger towards the EMT barn and then dug a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his back pocket.

“How did you know?” Ian asked in surprise, wondering if the man had noticed him around before.

“You’re wearing an EMT uniform, genius. I don’t exactly gotta be Sherlock Holmes to put the clues together, right?” He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit up. “You want one?” Ian was trying to quit, but anything to keep the conversation going was worth it to him in this moment, so he nodded and the other man shook the end of another stick out of the pack and held it out towards Ian. Ian took it between two fingers and then when the man passed him the lighter their hands brushed.

“So how do you and Al know each other?” the man said. Ian was surprised he was interested.

“Uh, just casually,” Ian said, and the other man rolled his eyes. “He was just on the sidewalk one day on my way into work, and he looked hungry and I had a tuna sandwich so I fed him, and I kept seeing him there for about a week and fed him every day, but then he stopped coming around. Now I see why-he found a better place to eat. I was giving him canned cat food, but out here…”

“He’s getting chicken on the regular,” the other man said.

“Oh wow, chicken’s his absolute favorite, no wonder he dumped me,” Ian said.

The man pitched his cigarette butt away and squatted down to scratch the cat behind its now cleaned (as clean as they were going to get anyway) ears. Ian’s mouth dropped open in amazement as the cat allowed it and began to purr, going so far as to rub up against the man’s knee as he scrunched his fingers into the fur.

“Shit, he wouldn’t let me so much as pet him,” Ian said. “Are you some sort of cat whisperer?”

“Naw,” the man said, standing back up. “First time I tried to pet him he went to scratch me, so I told him there’d be no more chicken if he had that attitude, and then he let me pet him. Just had to let him know who’s boss.” He eyed Ian, and Ian couldn’t help but feel inadequate somehow.

“Well, I’m glad he’s still around,” Ian said.

“Yeah, whatever,” the other man said, and flipped down a dumpster lid with a bang as he began to walk away.

“Hey, I didn’t get your name!” Ian said as the man walked around to the back door of the building.

“Didn’t give it,” was the only reply Ian got.

He looked at the cat, who was still looking up at him. “Mine’s Ian.”

The cat meowed and took off.

A few weeks later Ian was working a rare night shift-Rita had been desperately short handed and had to have Ian cover, but promised him he’d have the next three days in a row off. Ian knew he’d be able to make up for lost sleep easily with that many days off, plus he felt guilty about being a “special case” that got a custom made schedule to begin with, so he agreed to the shift without hesitation.

It was a rainy night, so he and his partner had been busy-it seemed like every asshole in Chicago forgot how to drive whenever it rained or snowed and they had been called to at least a dozen fender benders-but luckily nothing majorly serious had happened all shift. Now he was back at the EMT station, restocking the ambulance after their last call, waiting for his shift to end in about ten minutes. The next crew had already come in, so Ian would be out of there as soon as the clock said eleven.

There was a frantic pounding on the door that the employees used to get in and out of the building. Ian went to the door and peered out, and saw the man from the bar standing in the rain, holding something in both hands as he kicked at the door.

Ian opened the door. “Wha…is that Al?” he said, changing what he was going to say midstream when he noticed the man was holding the cat, wrapped in what looked like a black apron.

“Some asshole must’ve hit him-he wasn’t at the dumpsters at his regular time this afternoon, but just now when I went to throw out some shit I saw him lying back there-he must’ve crawled his way to get to me and passed out…” The man was so frantic only Ian’s years of experience of talking to stressed out people during emergencies let him understand most of what he was saying. “Can you help him?” the man asked Ian, a pleading look in his eyes.

“I don’t know anything about cats,” Ian began, but caught the look in the other man’s eyes and added, “bring him in here, I’ll take a look.”   Ian had the man follow him into the locker room area. He gently took the cat from him and placed him on a bench and unwrapped the apron. “I’ll be right back,” Ian said, and went to the rig to grab his bag from where he had left it. He pulled out a stethoscope and gently pressed it to the cat’s side. “His heartbeat is thready, and it might be fast, but I don’t know how fast a normal heartbeat would be for a cat,” Ian explained while lightly running his hands over the cat’s body and legs. “It doesn’t feel like anything’s broken, as far as I can tell. We should get him to a vet hospital.” Ian grabbed his phone out of his back pocket and typed into it. “The nearest one is about 8 miles away.” Ian typed some more, then looked up at the man. “I don’t have a car, so I called for an Uber.”

The other man rubbed his hand along his jaw. “Look, man, I run a crummy bar in a crummy neighborhood-I’m lucky if I clear ninety bucks a month after paying rent, utilities, and keeping myself fed.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got savings, I’ll take care of it,” Ian said.

“You shouldn’t…” the man began.

“Hey, I love the little creature too.” Ian looked down at his phone. “Uber’s here, let’s go.”

Since the man didn’t have time to argue, he gave up and gently scooped the cat back into his arms. Ian grabbed a clean towel and his jacket out of his locker, yelled to his partner he was leaving for the night, and led the man with the cat back to the doorway.

They got into the waiting car and the driver confirmed the name of the animal hospital and the address with Ian. While the man was typing it into his GPS, the dark haired man said to the driver, “I’ll give you an extra twenty bucks in cash if you can get us there in fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t know, man…”

“I’ll pay for the ticket if we get stopped,” Ian added quickly. “Hell, I know most of the cops down here from the job, they’d probably give us a police escort. Please hurry.” Ian was still in his EMT uniform and hadn’t put his jacket on yet, so the Uber driver floored it.

Ian was gently covering the still unconscious cat with the towel. “Gotta keep him warm,” he said to the man, who was looking down at the cat the whole time.

The driver got them to the hospital in thirteen minutes and the man fished a twenty out of his front pocket without jostling the cat and shoved it towards the driver as he got out of the car.

Ian and the man rushed into the animal hospital and when they got to the admitting desk, Ian started talking.

“We have an emergency here,” he said, emphatically but calmly. “This cat was found unconscious-we don’t know what happened, but it needs to be looked at right away.”

“Of course, sir,” the woman at the desk said, picking up the phone. Into the mouthpiece she said, “Unconscious cat, possible trauma.” A door next to the admitting desk buzzed and the receptionist said, “Please come in that door, someone will be here shortly to bring you to an exam room.”

They walked through the door, a young man in scrubs rushed around the corner in seconds to meet them. “Right this way,” he said, not wasting time to take the cat from the man. They were brought into an exam room and the man in scrubs asked that the cat be put on the table.

A woman walked into the room at a brisk pace and walked right to the table.

“I’m Dr. Miller,” she said as she unwrapped her stethoscope from around her neck and pressed it to the cat’s side. “Who do we have here?”

“Uh, Al,” the dark haired man said.

“And you are?” the vet prodded.

“Um, Mickey.”

“You the owner?”

Mickey shrugged. “Sure.”

“The cat’s a bit of a stray,” Ian added, “but Mickey’s been feeding him.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” the doctor asked.

“Not really-I just…found him…like that, out in back of my bar tonight.” Mickey said.

“And when was this?”

“About…” Mickey looked at Ian.

“No more than thirty minutes ago,” Ian said.

“And the cat’s been unconscious the whole time? Never came to?”

Mickey’s face crumbled. Ian spoke up quickly. “Yes, he’s been out the whole time, but we think maybe he was conscious after whatever happened to him, and he found his way to, uh, Mickey.” Ian was glad to have a name to put with the man at last, but regretted the circumstances that led to him learning it.

“Okay,” the doctor said, and then looked up at Mickey. She had been running her hands all along the cat’s body and extremities. “That he hasn’t woken up yet is not necessarily a bad sign, okay? I just need all the information you can give me.” She turned to the young man in scrubs. “Patrick, let’s get Al on oxygen, and in a bit you can take him to X-ray, and let them know I might want an MRI.” The assistant nodded and got a small oxygen tank with a tiny plastic mask out of one of the cupboards.

“The oxygen is just to help him-he’s actually breathing well on his own, but this will make it easier,” the doctor explained as she slipped the mask over the cat’s muzzle and set the dial. “I didn’t feel any broken bones, but cats have some tiny bones and the x-ray will make sure I’m not missing anything. As I said, I might want to do an MRI, but that will be up to you-do you happen to have pet insurance?” The doctor didn’t want to assume they didn’t, but since the cat sounded like a stray, she wasn’t surprised when Mickey shook his head no.

“Do everything it takes,” Ian said. “I can cover it.”

“Okay,” the doctor nodded. “Patrick, why don’t you take these guys back to reception to fill out some paperwork and then we’ll get Al into X-ray.”

Ian put his hand on Mickey’s back to help guide him out of the room. Mickey had hardly taken his eyes off the cat the whole time they were in there, and Ian knew he hated to leave him.

Once Patrick brought them back out to the main desk, he excused himself and went to rejoin the doctor. The receptionist gave Mickey a form to fill out on a clipboard with an attached pen and told him he could fill it out in the waiting area. Ian sat by quietly while Mickey filled in his information.

“Uh, it says here ‘method of payment’,” Mickey said quietly. “Um, cash, credit/debit card, check…”

“Credit/debit card,” Ian supplied. He glanced at the form. He didn’t mean to be nosy, but he did see Mickey’s last name was Milkovich and that his home address was the same as the bar’s.

Mickey finished filling out the form and returned it to the desk.

“Sir?” the receptionist called as Mickey was returning to his seat. “You didn’t check off a box to say whether he has a chip or not.”

“I don’t know,” Mickey said. “He’s just, I just found him-he found me…” Ian stood up and put his hand on Mickey’s shoulder.

“That’s all right, sir,” the receptionist said kindly. “We really need an ‘unknown’ box on here too-I’ll just write it in on here.”

Mickey nodded and he and Ian sat down again. They were the only people in the waiting room, Ian figured that was due to the late hour.

After about thirty minutes had passed, Patrick stuck his head out the door to the waiting room.

“Someone’s awake and wants to see you,” he smiled. Mickey and Ian jumped up and made their way to him rapidly. They followed Patrick back to the exam room they had been brought to before, and not even half way there they could hear yowling from behind the closed door.

“Yeah, he’s not too happy with us. Doc Miller thought it’d be best to get you back to him right away.”

As soon as the door opened and Patrick stepped aside so the cat could see Mickey, the noise stopped. Mickey crossed the room quickly and placed his hand on the cat’s head. Al let out one of his happy meows.

“So, as you can see, Al is awake,” the doctor smiled. “His x-rays were good and he’s even been so helpful as to supply us with a stool sample already, and there is no sign of internal bleeding-I think we don’t need to do an MRI at this juncture. I would like to keep him overnight for close observation, but if he continues on as he has been, you’ll be able to take him home tomorrow.”

“What was wrong with him?” Mickey asked.

“We’ll never know for sure, of course, but I believe he was struck somehow, and hit his head, which knocked him out for a while. Sometimes animals get hit by a car-a glancing blow could’ve thrown him so that he hit his head on the curb, for example-or maybe someone threw something at him that hit his head, like a rock or a brick.”

Mickey’s hand that wasn’t petting the cat’s head curled into a fist. The thought of someone trying to deliberately hurt a small animal made him hostile.

“We’ve drawn some blood and tomorrow the lab will run a full test screen for feline diabetes, HIV, distemper…and we’ll give him a flea dip that I’m sure he’ll hate, but he desperately needs. He’s been neutered, and the x-ray showed he has a chip, so we’ve scanned that and Janiqua at reception is checking the database to see if anyone’s been looking for the little guy. I’m guessing he’s about two years old and he seems in overall good health. Being neutered helped him stay out of cat fights on the street, so he’s not scarred and banged up like some strays we see. Did you have any questions for me?”

Mickey had been staring at her unblinking while she was speaking, and now he just mutely shook his head no.

“Uh, it’s been a long night,” Ian said gently. “Why don’t we get going, Mickey-I’ll see you home.”

Mickey looked down at the cat and sighed. “Yeah, thanks.” He bent down so he was eye level with the cat. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Al. You let these nice people take care of you, and I’ll see you real soon.” It looked like the cat actually nodded back, and Mickey gave him one last pat, and then stood up.

Al looked directly at Ian and meowed, just once.

“Uh, that’s his ‘I want you to pet me’ meow,” Mickey said to Ian.

“Really?” Ian said, remembering the one time he tried to pat this cat before.

“Yeah, really,” Mickey said. “It’s different from his ‘feed me’ or ‘pick me up’ meow.”

“You better be right about this, Cat Whisperer,” Ian said quietly, and approached the cat cautiously. The cat looked up at Ian with its jade eyes and meowed again. It did sound like the same type of meow he gave Mickey, Ian guessed, so he gently extended the back of his hand towards that cat. Al butted it gently with his head and then let Ian run his fingers over the top of his head. Ian felt a rush of affection towards the little guy. “Good night, Al. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said softly. He looked at Mickey again, who looked away quickly, since he had sort of been staring at the exchange between man and cat.

“So, Doc, uh, thanks,” Mickey said.

The vet stuck out her hand for Mickey to shake. “Just doing my job, but you’re welcome. I appreciate anyone who cares for animals.” She nodded to her assistant and he led them back to the reception desk.

“You guys headed home? It’s been a long night,” Janiqua said to them. “We’ll give you a call tomorrow and let you know when you can pick Al up, and of course if anything comes up in the meantime, we’ll let you know right away.”

“Thanks,” Mickey said. “Um, the doc mentioned something about the chip…?”

“Oh yeah,” Janiqua said. “No hits-it doesn’t look like anyone’s ever activated it or reported him missing. We can update the info in the database tomorrow when you come to pick him up, if you want. List you as his owner and contact person, okay?”

“Yeah,” Mickey replied, letting out a big breath of relief, “you can list me as his contact.”

Janiqua smiled at him. “Well, it won’t be me, but I’ll leave a note on Al’s file so whoever’s working tomorrow gets you all set up. Go on home and get some sleep, and don’t worry about Al-he’s in good hands here.”

“Thank you,” Mickey said. Ian nodded and added a good night, and he and Mickey turned to leave.

Ian looked at his phone. “I called another Uber…”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mickey said.

“It’s late, it’s safer, I don’t mind, honest,” Ian said.

“What time is it?” Mickey asked.

“Just past one.”

“Shit,” Mickey muttered, and dug his phone out of his pocket. “Gotta call my bar,” he explained to Ian. “Rhonda? Hey, it’s me-sorry I took off, how’s things over there?” Mickey was quiet for a few seconds. “Ok, good-just lock up, tell Berry I’ll…Oh, oh yeah, shit, you guys are the best. I’m headed back now.” He listened some more. “You know that cat I’ve been feeding? Well, he got hurt and we had to bring him to a vet. He looks like he’ll be okay now.” Mickey shot Ian a grateful look. “Yeah, I’ll see ya tomorrow-oh, I might need you to come in early, depending on when I can take the cat home, but hopefully I’ll get him early and be able to handle things till you come in at the regular time. I’ll let you know. Yup, and really, thanks again.”

Mickey disconnected the call and looked up at Ian. “Everything’s cool there-they had a quiet night and we close at one during the week, so my waitress and my cook were just finishing cleaning up.”

“Sounds good,” Ian said. He looked down at his phone. “Car should be here any minute, want to wait outside?” Mickey nodded and a car pulled up and they got in. Ian and Mickey sat quietly on the ride back.

When they got to the bar, before Ian could tell the driver where to take him next Mickey asked, “Do you want to come in for a drink?”

Ian blinked. “Uh, sure, yeah, I’d like that, yes.”

The driver chuckled. “So I take it you’ll be getting out here too?” He was amused how his passenger had answered in the affirmative four times to the other guy. He knew smitten when he saw it-being an Uber driver, he’d seen things. Sometimes he felt like Cupid’s co-pilot.

“Uh, yeah,” Ian said again. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Have a good night!” the Uber driver said happily.

This late at night, the bar had one of those big metal garage door-type things pulled down and locked over the front of the building.

“Come on, Red, we can get to the bar from the back,” Mickey said, and gestured with his hand in a “follow me” motion. Mickey got his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the back door. He punched in a code on a keypad next to the door inside and flipped a light on. Ian and Mickey were standing in a crowded storage room filled with boxes of liquor and shelves with supplies. On one wall there was a staircase leading up to a landing in front of a door.

Mickey brought Ian into the bar. It was small and dark. Mickey hit a switch that had turned on a recessed light above the back of the bar itself and a few neon signs advertising various beers lit up around the walls. Ian looked around curiously, he had never been in the place before. Despite its extremely close proximity to the EMT station, no one he worked with had ever suggested using the place for after work get-togethers or anything. There were a half a dozen or so tables with chairs flipped up on them for the night in the room with the bar and its half or dozen or so stools. He saw that the main room led into a smaller room with a few more neon signs on those walls, and he thought he could make out the outlines of a pool table in the gloom. The place reminded him of almost every small neighborhood bar he’d been in.

Mickey walked behind the bar and Ian leaned against it from the patron’s side.

“What can I get ya, uh-I’m sorry, if you told me your name tonight I forgot it in the…”

“I’m Ian,” Ian said, and tilted his head a bit and smiled. “Ian Gallagher.”

“Yeah, your name tag says ‘Gallagher’,” Mickey smiled back. “I’m Mickey Milkovich. Welcome to the Four Aces.”

“Thanks,” Ian said, and his smile grew.

“So, what would you like? Name it, anything you’d like-top shelf even.”

Ian let out a delighted chuckle, but then his face got serious. “Um, not really much of a drinker-maybe just a beer? A light beer, since I haven’t eaten,” Ian added, as Mickey turned around to grab a couple of beer mugs from a low shelf behind him.

“Oh shit, that’s right-I haven’t eaten either,” Mickey said. “You wanna come upstairs? Have some late supper?”

“Oh, you don’t have to go to all that trouble…” Ian began, but Mickey cut him off.

“Don’t be stupid, man, we gotta eat. Come on,” Mickey started to walk to the end of the bar, but then stopped again. “Oh, do you want a beer to have with your food? It’s not much, but I’ve got some great boneless wings and I’ll find something to go with them. But you could have pop, or water, or I’ve got some lemonade…”

Suddenly lemonade sounded like the best thing in the world to Ian. His mouth was dry and he could go for something refreshing.

“If you’re sure it’s no bother, I’d love some lemonade and wings,” Ian said.

“All right, then, let’s go,” Mickey said. Mickey led the way back to the storeroom and up the staircase Ian had noticed earlier. At the top of the stairs there was a keypad like the one by the backdoor, and Mickey punched a few buttons-Ian figured he was resetting the burglar alarm for the bar. Mickey unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and ushered Ian into his living quarters. There was a tiny kitchen and a small room that held a couch with a low table in front of it, and a TV mounted to the wall opposite the couch, and then a darkened hall beyond.

“Grab a seat,” Mickey said and jabbed his thumb towards the couch. “Remote’s there on the table, feel free to see what’s on.” Mickey opened the fridge and took out a covered bowl and then started poking around in the cabinets. “You want your chicken heated up or cold?” he called over his shoulder to Ian.

“Um, however you’re having yours is fine,” Ian said. He got the TV on and found Sports Center. “Anything I can do?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.” Mickey opened up a package of Easy Mac and added water and stuck it in the microwave. While it cooked, he pulled out two plates and some salad tongs and put some wings on each plate. “Forgot to tell you these wings are in honey lime sauce, that okay?”

“Sure!” Ian said from the couch. “Sounds delicious.”

“You have no idea,” Mickey said. “My cook makes great wings. Best I ever had, that’s for sure.” Mickey got out two glasses and then opened the freezer and took out a cube of ice trays. He put a few cubes in each glass and then filled the glasses with lemonade. The microwave beeped and Mickey took the cup of Easy Mac out and replaced it with the next one he had ready to cook. He added the cheese packet to the cooked cup and stirred it in. He left the macaroni and cheese in the cup and placed it on the side of one of the plates and brought the plate, a glass of lemonade, and a fork and knife over to Ian. He put the items on the low table and smiled at Ian. “Dig in, mine will be ready in just a minute.” Mickey walked back to the kitchen part of the room and waited for his food to be ready.

Ian took a sip of lemonade, and then followed that by taking a big gulp. The stuff was delicious. He might have even moaned aloud.

Mickey looked over and saw that Ian had already drank two thirds of his drink, so he opened the fridge and took out the pitcher and topped off Ian’s glass again. Ian smiled and said thanks. The microwaved beeped just as Mickey returned the pitcher to the refrigerator so he quickly made his cup of Easy Mac and joined Ian on the couch. Along with his plate, glass, and silverware he had also carried a big handful of paper napkins-the kind folded in thirds that fit in countertop dispensers.

“The sauce can get a little messy,” he said to Ian. “Don’t be shy about using a lot of napkins.”

“Thanks,” Ian said. He picked up a wing and took a bite, chewed and swallowed. “This is good,” he told Mickey.

“Right? My cook, he’s got a magic recipe or something. I wasn’t even serving food when he turned up on my doorstep one day looking for work. He’d been in the army and the one skill they taught him was how to cook for a hundred and fifty guys at once,” Mickey chuckled. “Once we got him to be able to cook for a lot less people at a time, we really had something. He just makes up recipes for wing sauce on the fly, and he hasn’t let me down yet. Basically our menu is just wings, fries, onion rings, and chili, but it’s better than the peanuts and pretzels we used to have for the old guys that sit around all night drinking.”

Ian had been happily eating his wings while Mickey talked. “How long have you owned the place?” he said between bites. Mickey looked like he couldn’t be much older than Ian, and he was curious about Mickey having his own business.

“I sort of inherited it from the old man that used to own it-well, I always thought he was old. I met him when I was a teenager and thought he was ancient, but when he died last year he was only sixty-one and that’s not really old enough to die, you know?”

Ian nodded.

“Well, anyways,” Mickey said, shaking his head to stop thinking about the end of that part of the story, “when I was growing up, my old man made me and my brothers do all sorts of jobs for him, and one of them was to shake down businesses in our neighborhood for protection money. Basically all they got was protection from my family robbing them, but whatever. My dad was always small time. When I got old enough, the old man started sending me around to the businesses on this street…”

“You grew up here?” Ian said.

“Yeah,” Mickey said, a bit defensively. “Been in Canaryville my whole life. Where’re you from?”

“Back of the Yards,” Ian said.

“No shit? You’re South Side too?” Ian nodded. “Yeah, well, like I was saying-my old man sent me out to collect, but the guy who used to own the bar-Burt-he could tell my heart wasn’t in it. He started letting me hang out in the bar in the afternoons so I didn’t have to go home and wait for my old man to notice me and think up other shit for me to do. Burt let me sweep out the bar and polish shit and whatever, and paid me money he told me to keep for doing the work. I didn’t need money for anything-if I had ever saved up for something for myself my old man or one of my brothers would’ve taken it or broken it, so I just gave it to my old man like it was Burt’s share of the protection money-none of the businesses down here ever gave us much anyway. As I got older, Burt started showing me the ropes-taught me about inventory and keeping the books and how to make drinks. When he got diagnosed with ass cancer they told him he didn’t have long. He told me he wanted to sign the business over to me, if I wanted it. He said I knew enough to know he wasn’t really giving me a gift, there’s a mortgage on the place and whatever profit the bar makes goes to pay that. But he said I’m young enough that the mortgage could get paid off before I’m too far into middle age, and that after that, maybe I would make enough to live comfortably.”

Ian raised his eyebrows. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“Yeah, I hope so-I hope it works out like Burt thought it could,” Mickey said. “But, you know, shit happens-any time he thought he was getting close to pay the place off, something major would happen and he’d have to remortgage, so…whatever. It’s not like I had any other plans for my life.” Mickey shook his head again. “Hey, you want some more lemonade?” He noticed Ian’s glass was empty.

Ian nodded. “I’ll probably be peeing all night, but it is really good.” Mickey laughed and stood up and got the pitcher to refill both their glasses, and then left the pitcher on the table, in case Ian wanted even more.

Ian took another long drink from his and asked, “Why is this the best lemonade I’ve ever had?”

Mickey settled back on the couch with his plate. “I make it from scratch-it’s all pure sugar and fresh lemons.” Ian raised his eyebrows, impressed. “You should see me with a lemon squeezer,” Mickey continued. “How do you think I got these arm muscles?” He tightened his hands on the plate for a second, causing the muscles in question to flex. He was wearing a sleeveless tank top; he had taken off his damp bartending shirt when they first got upstairs.

Ian’s eyes darkened as he looked at Mickey. “Excuse me, but…could I use the bathroom?” he asked.

“Sure, first door on the right in the hallway,” Mickey said. Ian stood up and quickly walked to the bathroom. He fished a little plastic pill carrier out of his pocket and took his pills with a handful of water from the tap. He relieved himself, washed up, and then returned to the couch. When he sat down, he noticed his hands were starting to shake-they usually did after he took his meds.

He looked over at Mickey, and knew he had noticed the shaking. “I, uh, I just had to go take my medication. For bipolar disorder.” Ian wasn’t usually so forthcoming with relative strangers about his condition, but he just wanted Mickey to know. He wasn’t sure why, maybe it was because Mickey had just told him a lot about his life. He waited to see what Mickey’s reaction would be.

“Do you need anything? Anything I can do?” Mickey asked.

Ian blinked in surprise. Usually people had a million questions about bipolar, but he couldn’t remember anyone asking if they could help right after Ian told them he had it. Ian just shook his head no to Mickey’s questions.

“Well then, finish up your Easy Mac, it’s getting cold, man.”

Ian gave Mickey a gentle smile and picked up his fork, leaving his plate on the table to eat from.

Mickey looked at the TV. “You into sports?” he asked Ian, since Ian had left the channel on ESPN.

“Not really,” Ian shrugged.

“Me either-we’ll have hockey or baseball or football on down in the bar, but I never pay much attention,” Mickey said.

“I like watching the highlights because I’m always amazed at what athletes can do, but I don’t bother sitting through whole games and stuff,” Ian said.

“Yeah, that’s true-I’ll stop and watch a replay but can’t be bothered with the entire game,” Mickey said.

They were done eating and Mickey offered Ian more, but Ian was full. Mickey got up to clear the dishes and when Ian went to stand up to help him, Mickey made a shooing motion at him to sit back down.

“I do this for a living,” Mickey said, quickly stacking the plates and glasses and silverware and used napkins into one pile and lifting the pitcher with the other. In the kitchen he tossed the napkins, got the dinnerware soaking in the sink and had the lemonade back in the fridge in no time.

“Impressive,” Ian said, as Mickey sat back down mere seconds after he had started the clean-up process.

“Damn right,” Mickey said, giving Ian a look from under his eyelashes.

As reluctant as Ian was to leave, it was really late and he figured he should get home.

“Thanks for feeding me,” he told Mickey. “Uh, can I give you my number so you can call me tomorrow to let me know when we need to get the cat?”

Mickey’s face got serious and he nodded. “I can’t,” he began, then cleared his throat and started again. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you did tonight-everything you’re going to do for Al. I didn’t realize how deep I was with him, but when they said he had a chip and they might find an owner...”

Ian nodded-it had hit him in that moment too, that they could actually still lose the cat even though he seemed to be okay physically.

“And then the doc started listing all those diseases-I never thought of cats getting sick like Bur…like that,” Mickey added.

Ian looked at Mickey. Mickey’s eyes had filled with tears, but he didn’t look away. “He’s going to be all right, Mickey. Even if the blood tests turn up something, there’s treatments and medication-we’ll take care of him.” Mickey gave Ian a small smile.

“You’re a good guy, anyone ever tell you that?” Mickey said, trying to lighten his own mood. He was more grateful to this near stranger than he could ever say.

Ian blushed from the praise. “Al’s just a little guy trying to make it in the world, I’m happy to help.” He could see Mickey was still thinking about the animal and still seemed a bit overwhelmed. “You must be tired…”

“Actually, I feel kinda…wound up,” Mickey admitted. “Thought maybe I’d try to find a movie, something light that I don’t have to think about. Can you stay a while longer?”

“Sure,” Ian said. He reached for the remote and passed it over to Mickey and leaned back on the couch to settle in. “Oh, I better text my sister, let her know not to worry about where I am.”

Mickey found Men In Tights about to start and they both sank into the couch cushions to watch.

A few hours later, Mickey blinked his eyes open. He was still on the couch, his face pressed up against the side of Ian’s arm. He turned his head a bit, and the stubble on his cheek rasped against the polyester of Ian’s uniform sleeve, giving a bit of a sandpaper sensation that Mickey didn’t hate. He rubbed his cheek back the other way and decided he actually liked it quite a bit.

He didn’t want to wake Ian though, so he sat up before the urge to rub against Ian’s arm yet again took over.

Ian was sound asleep with his neck at an odd angle against the corner of the couch. Mickey knew he couldn’t stay like that-he’d wake up with a hell of a stiff neck, if it wasn’t too late already. Mickey went to his bedroom and took one of the pillows off his full size bed. He brought it out to the living room and gently moved Ian so his head was now resting on the pillow on the arm of the couch. Since Ian was sleeping through the process, Mickey untied his shoes and pulled them off, then swung Ian’s legs up onto the couch as well. There was a fluffy small blanket thing Mickey’s sister had given him when he moved into the place-she called it a “throw” and told him to put it on the back of the couch to cover a big spot that had stained the upholstery on the second hand piece of furniture he had found at Good Will. Mickey pulled it down off the back of the couch to put over Ian, but it wasn’t anywhere near long enough to cover him. Mickey put the throw back over the stain and went to his room again, this time taking one of the two blankets off his bed, which he used to cover Ian.

Mickey stumbled back to his room and fell face down on his bed, exhausted from the night’s events and finally ready to let sleep take over completely.

In the bright light of day, Mickey staggered out of his bedroom. After a quick pit stop in the bathroom, he walked to the living room and saw that the couch was unoccupied. The blanket he had brought out from his bed was folded with military precision and was sitting on top of the pillow on the couch cushion where Ian had been sitting the night before, and he figured Ian had left. Just as it was beginning to occur to him that he hadn’t gotten Ian’s phone number to call him about Al, there was a knock at the backdoor to the outside stairs.

Mickey opened the door to find Ian standing there, a cardboard tray with coffee in one hand and a couple of bags in the other.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Ian grinned. “Didn’t think till the door shut behind me that I didn’t have a way back in. I, uh, I got us breakfast.”

Mickey smiled and stepped back so Ian could come in. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did,” Mickey said as Ian set everything down on a kitchen counter. “I was gonna have cold wings again.”

“I got breakfast burritos and coffee, is that okay?”

“That’s perfect. But, what’s in that bag?” Mickey asked, pointing to the bigger bag Ian had brought in.

“Oh! Well, I went to work to use the shower and change,” Mickey now noticed Ian wasn’t in his uniform-he had changed into jeans and a flannel shirt over a henley, “and I figured you should have this stuff, for the cat.”   Ian opened the bag and took out the plastic food and water dish and the cans of cat food leftover once Al didn’t come to Ian anymore.

Mickey got all shy and looked down at his feet and said, “You’ve done so much already…”

“What else am I going to do with this stuff?” Ian said. “I got it for Al, he should have use of it.”

Mickey looked up and smiled, looking Ian right in the eye. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Ian said, smiling back. “Let’s eat.” They brought the food and coffee over to the couch and put it all on the table.

“I didn’t know how you take your coffee, so I sweet talked the gal at the breakfast place out of a lot of creamer and sugar,” Ian explained, taking those objects out of a smaller bag that had been put in the burrito bag. There was a lot of it.

“Sweet talked all that out of her, huh? Bet you probably got her number too,” Mickey joked, well, half-joked. He was watching Ian closely.

Ian snorted. “The only number I got is a guess at her age, which I’d put in the mid-fifties. I went for the ‘starving kid’ angle and she definitely had a mom vibe,” Ian chuckled.

Just as they were finishing their breakfast, Mickey got the call that Al was cleared for release. Ian wanted to call for another Uber, but Mickey said they could take the bus.

“But we’ll probably need to use Uber to get him home-I don’t have an account, but I could pay you,” Mickey said.

“Naw, that’s not necessary, Mickey. Don’t worry about it.”

At the animal hospital several people were working at the reception desk. When Mickey said they were there to pick up his cat, a young woman waved them to her and brought up the information on her computer.

“Okay, I see a note here from Janiqua asking that I set you up on the pet registry,” the receptionist said.

“Yeah, she mentioned that last night,” Mickey said.

“All right, this is pretty quick and painless. It’ll only take a couple of minutes. I’m Hannah, by the way.”

“Thanks for helping, Hannah,” Mickey said. Ian nearly swooned, there was something about this tough guy and his nice manners…

“Okay, first question’s easy-what’s the cat’s name?” Hannah asked, fingers poised over her keyboard to type it in.

“Al,” Mickey said.

“Middle initial E,” Ian added. Mickey looked at him like he was nuts.

“Middle what now?”

“Middle initial,” Ian enunciated. “His name is Al E. Milkovich now, used to be Al E. Cat.”

Mickey let out a huff of a laugh. “You’re a fuckin’ dick,” he said quietly, but Hannah still heard it and laughed too.

“Okay, Al E. Milkovich, nee Cat,” she said. “And now I need your name, address, and phone number where you can be most easily reached. And an email address, if you’d like to provide one.” Mickey rattled off all his deets and then Hannah asked, “Do you want a second contact? Like, a back up?”

Mickey looked up into Ian’s eyes. “Could I trouble you to…”

“I’m honored to be asked, it’s no trouble at all,” Ian smiled, and then turned to Hannah to give her all his information as well.

After that was all settled Hannah said, “I notice you don’t have a pet carrier, and the cat didn’t come in with a collar or anything? Maybe you guys want to think about a collar and a lead to take him home with? We have some for sale, if you want to take a look.” She buzzed them in at the door and brought them in the opposite direction of where they had been the night before. There was a rack on the wall with cat and dog collars and an assortment of leashes.

“If you see anything you’d like, just bring it to me and I’ll add it to the bill,” Hannah said.

Mickey stepped closer to the wall and was looking at the collars. There was a black nylon one with little skulls on it that seemed to catch his attention, but he looked at the price tag and then picked up a plain black one instead. Ian casually flipped the tag and saw it was only a couple dollars more than the plain ones and took it off the hook. “This one looks badass,” he said to Mickey. “I think Al will like it. Uh, you try putting it on him though.”

Mickey laughed and nodded. “It is pretty cool.” The leashes were all solid colors, and Mickey picked a thin red one. “Red and black always go good together,” he said.

Ian looked at Mickey’s hair pointedly. “I agree,” he said.

They brought the items back to Hannah and she scanned them and printed out the bill. “That’ll be four hundred eighty-six dollars and forty-seven cents,” she said, and Mickey almost blacked out.

“He wasn’t even hurt!” Mickey blurted out.

“It’s okay, Mickey. Medical tests are expensive, doctor exams are expensive,” Ian said in a soothing tone. “I figured it’d be a few hundred, don’t worry.”  

“You’re gonna eat and drink free for the rest of your life,” Mickey said quietly to Ian as he handed his debit card over to Hannah. “I mean it-anytime, day or night, anything you want at my bar, it’s yours.”

They were finally brought to the back to get Al. He was in an exam room again, quieter than last night. A different doctor was with him when Hannah led them in. Mickey stopped short and Ian almost barreled through him. He gave him a good bump as it was and placed his hands on Mickey’s shoulders to keep him from propelling forward any further.

“He’s…he’s so gorgeous,” Mickey finally said, as he looked at Al as if for the first time.

The cat was all fluffy and clean, and now they could see his fur had different shades to it. Before Al had looked like he was all one color-a muted, extremely dirty dishwater shade of gray-but now they could see he was two toned, his fur was a pretty dark almost black color with an undercoat of light fur that was a color Ian remembered one of Fiona’s boyfriends calling “champagne” when referring to his car that was practically the same shade. The markings on Al’s face were darker than the light charcoal shade of the top of his head and he looked like he was wearing a little bandit mask. The bridge of his nose and under his chin were the light champagne color, and so were his paws. His legs and tail were tiger striped.

Al let out a loud insistent meow and Mickey went to him and started petting him.

“Ian, you’ve gotta feel this, he’s so soft,” Mickey said with wonder. Ian was still cautious about the cat.

“Maybe I better wait till he asks me to,” Ian said warily.

“Don’t be a pu…don’t be silly,” Mickey said to Ian. Then he looked the cat in the eye and said, “Ian’s been taking good care of you, you owe him.” Mickey looked back at Ian. “You can pet him now, really, it’s okay.”

Ian figured there were plenty of bandages in the place if Al had other ideas, and he gently held out his hand to the cat again so he could sniff it-or scratch it-before Ian petted him. Once again Al butted his head against Ian’s hand and let Ian run his hand up over his head. The fur was so soft, now that it was clean.

“And look, Al, your very own collar,” Mickey said, pulling it out of the little bag Hannah had put it in. Mickey let Al sniff it all over and then Mickey bit off the price tag and gently placed it around the cat’s neck. Ian had wanted to get clear before then, but Al was stretching his neck up so Ian would keep petting him and Al allowed the collar to go on without a fuss.  

Once they had that taken care of, the doctor introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Hamden. Dr. Miller filled me in on Al’s case as she was leaving this morning, and I’m happy to tell you all his blood tests came back clean and he’s in very good health. We would recommend that you try to keep him as a house pet if at all possible-the city streets are no place for a cat to roam and Al seems very acclimated to humans and would be perfectly happy living indoors.”

“That’s what I plan to do,” Mickey said. “I want him to live with me in my apartment.”

“That sounds great. He shouldn’t need a follow up, Al seems fully recovered from this incident, but of course if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call us or bring him in. But for now, I’d say you don’t need to bring him in until next year for an annual checkup,” the vet said.

“We’ll make an appointment on the way out,” Ian said, and Mickey smiled him. Mickey was all for Ian still being in Al’s life twelve months down the road, but Mickey was also determined to start saving up for that medical bill now-Ian had already paid a lot of money.

Al allowed Mickey to attach the leash to his collar and led Mickey and Ian out of the room, and then out of the animal hospital after they set up his appointment with Hannah. The entire reception area watched with amusement as the cat clearly was in charge of his human friends.

Outside Al waited patiently while Ian arranged for their ride home, and he sat on Mickey’s lap looking out the window of the Uber for the trip back to the bar. Ian sent the car on its way when they got to Mickey’s, and told Mickey he’d see them soon. Mickey wanted to ask him to come up to his apartment with them, but didn’t know how to word it, plus he had taken up a lot of Ian’s time already. Mickey figured he’d try to get the cat settled before he’d have to go downstairs and prep for the bar opening at four, so he thanked Ian again and let Al lead the way up the outside stairs to his place.

About half an hour later, there was a knock at Mickey’s back door. Al was sleeping happily on the couch and didn’t even stir at the noise. Mickey opened the door to Ian, who had a big box of kitty litter in one hand and a big Target bag in the other. Mickey let him in and Ian gave him a big friendly smile.

“Hope it’s okay I’m crashing in on you guys so soon,” Ian said. “Hi, Al!” He waved to the cat from the kitchen. Al yawned and swished his tail in greeting.

“Yeah, it’s fine, come on in,” Mickey said. “Can I help you with any of that?”

“Uh, no, I’ve got it,” Ian said, although he did put the box of litter on the floor. “I got Al some stuff…” Ian opened the big bag and looked down into it. “There’s a litter box, and something called a litter genie, and a scoop for the litter…and some toys, some with catnip.” He looked up into Mickey’s eyes. Mickey was smiling at him.

“You didn’t have to do all that, man,” Mickey said.

“But I wanted to,” Ian said simply.

“I’m glad you did-I was figuring that I’d have to try to train him to go to the bathroom outside whenever I can break away from the bar…I wonder how hard it’ll be to teach him to use the box?” Mickey said.

“There’s probably videos online,” Ian said. “Let’s get the box ready and then see if we can find any.”

They decided the most logical spot for the litter box would be the bathroom, and Mickey had the perfect place to put it since his sink didn’t have a cabinet around it. He poured a few inches of litter into the bottom of the box and slid it under the sink and before he and Ian could start looking for videos, Al came in and used the box as if he had been waiting for his accommodations to be set up. Ian and Mickey looked at each other and laughed. Then Mickey read the instructions for the litter genie and got that set up as well.

Over the next few weeks, Ian would stop by the bar after his shifts to see Al, and the fact that that meant seeing Mickey too was just a bonus. Ian got to meet Rhonda and “Berry”, the infamous wings and chili cook. Berry’s real name was Ephraim Mayberry, so Ian could understand why he went by Berry. He looked like he could play defense for the Chicago Bears, but he was as sweet and gentle as a kitten. He took a real shine to Ian, and would practically swoon when Ian complimented him on his various recipes, which Ian did every time he had anything Berry made.

“You’re a true artist, Berry,” Ian told him.

“Aw, you’re just saying that…”

Al was thriving, he took to indoor living quite well and was now Mickey’s partner in running the bar. He had a little cat door cut into Mickey’s door at the top of the stairs in the storeroom, but spent the hours when the bar was open in the establishment with Mickey, keeping an eye on things. He would sit on the chairs or barstools, and lounge on the jukebox or the edge of the pool table when it wasn’t in use, but never jumped on the bar itself or any of the tables in the bar. The regulars all loved him, especially when some newcomer would try to pet him. Al would never scratch a customer, but he’d hiss and spit and basically swear like Mickey, only in cat language.

Word was spreading about the cat that ran a bar, and business was picking up.

After a couple of months of non-stop questioning and burning curiosity, Ian finally agreed to go to the Four Aces with his workmates one night. Sue and Rita had a feeling there was more to the way Ian’s face lit up when he talked about the place than just the cat, and they wanted to see for themselves who was responsible for the moony look in his eye.

So one night Ian and seven of his coworkers came into the bar. They pushed a couple tables together and oohed and ahhed over the cat, who was laying atop the jukebox, his tail twitching. He gave Ian a polite meow when he saw he was part of the group, and Ian got up and petted him, but warned the others to let Al come to them, if he even decided to. Ian returned to his seat and Mickey came from behind the bar to bring them menus.

“Our wings tonight are onion parmesan or hot as fuck Buffalo,” Mickey said. “We also got chili.”

“Is that hot as fuck also?” one of the guys asked with a scoff. His abuela made everything spicy, she had a fear of salmonella and figured hot spices would make anything safe, he didn’t need this pale motherfucker trying to tell him from hot.

Mickey fixed the guy with a stare. “Matter of fact it is, although we offer a less hot alternative, so you don’t fuckin’ die.”

Raul swallowed hard. He had the distinct impression he had just been threatened. He noticed even the cat was looking at him with narrowed eyes.

Ian, however, was smiling at the barkeep with stars in his eyes. “Could you bring us, oh, let’s say three plates of each on the wings, and a basket of onion rings, a basket of fries, and I’ll take a cup of the not hot as fuck chili-anyone else?” he said, looking around the table. Sue and Rita said they’d try a cup of the cooler chili as well, and then the rest of the crew added their choices, some going for bowls, some going for cups. Mickey’s stare feel back on Raul. He raised his eyebrows-it felt like a challenge.

“I’ll try a bowl of the hot chili,” Raul said, cringing when his voice cracked.

“That’s what I thought,” Mickey said. “Beer for everybody? Or do you want drinks?”

“I think we’ll start with beer,” Ian said, since that’s what they normally did when they’d go out as a group like this. “I’ll come with you and get the pitchers-and a lemonade for me.”

“Lemonade?” Raul said, again with a scoff. Mickey shot him a look and Raul worried that he’d peed his pants for a second. “Uh, sounds good, but I’ll start with beer,” he mumbled meekly.

Ian brought the pitchers and glasses to the table and then went back to the bar for his lemonade. The EMTs watched them and couldn’t help but notice the cute interaction, except for Raul, who was too intimidated to look in Mickey’s direction.

Ian returned to the table with a smile on his face. Soon Mickey and Rhonda brought the food to the group, and everyone tucked in with appetite. Mickey plunked Raul’s bowl down in front of him and said, “We’ve got milk if you need to cool off your tastebuds,” with a growl. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Raul’s forehead and he hadn’t even tasted the chili yet. Mickey stomped off and Raul took a spoonful of the chili, but he was so unnerved he didn’t even taste it.

The EMT crew was enjoying itself-the food was good and they all got along whenever they went out. The bar was getting busier so Mickey was stuck behind the bar, but Rhonda kept an eye on them and she and Ian kept replenishing the beer, and Ian’s lemonade.

After they’d been there a few hours, during a lull in the boisterous conversation around the table, Ian took a moment to watch Mickey, who at that moment was squeezing lemons for another batch of lemonade behind the bar. He was wearing a sleeveless T shirt and his biceps bulged under the lights over the bar. Raul happened to notice Ian was interested in something across the room, and he looked over to see what had caught Ian’s attention so thoroughly.

“Oh! I get it! I wondered what a gay guy like Ian would want to come to a place like this for!” Raul said loudly. He had had more than his share of beer in an attempt to bolster his courage around Mickey.

Ian had looked away from Mickey when Raul had started speaking, and now he quickly looked back behind the bar, but Mickey wasn’t there anymore. He had probably gone to put the lemonade in the fridge out back, Ian reasoned, but he wondered if Mickey had heard what Raul had said. Then Ian noticed that the place had gone silent. Mickey’s regulars were a bunch of old reprobates and it occurred to Ian they were more than likely homophobic. This was the last thing he needed.

Mickey was back, carrying a rack of glasses from the dishwasher to dry off and put away behind the bar. He looked around the silent room and yelled, “Why did it get so quiet?”

No one answered him specifically, but conversations at the tables and at the bar started up again, the volume returned to its previous roar pretty quickly. Ian let out a sigh of relief and Rita hissed a few private words directly into Raul’s ear. He was the youngest guy on the crew, and the newest, and while it was to his credit that he was perfectly comfortable with Ian’s sexuality, he did need to learn that it wasn’t really any of his business to discuss it.

They stayed till midnight and when Mickey brought the check over Ian could tell he had given them a hefty discount, above and beyond giving Ian his share for free. Mickey had stuck to his promise to always give Ian his food and drinks on the house, but Ian always insisted on tipping, and tonight they made sure to overtip lavishly.

Ian lagged behind to talk to Berry, who was already cleaning up the main room. The kitchen was already closed and cleaned for the night, and most of the regulars had straggled out around the time the EMT crew was leaving.

“Gonna be locking up soon,” Mickey said, when Ian came over to the bar to say good night and thank Mickey for the food.

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Thought I’d say goodbye to Al-where is he?”

“Already took himself upstairs,” Mickey said. “He gets out of the way at closing time. Wanna come up and see him?”

Ian smiled. “Love to-if it’s not gonna keep you up too late.”

Mickey smiled back. “Just give me fifteen minutes.” Ian sat on a bar stool while Berry, Mickey, and Rhonda made quick work of closing the place. If he locked the doors a little early that night, Mickey figured that’s what being the owner meant-that he could do what he wanted every so often.

Upstairs Al was sleeping on top of the back of the couch. Ian noticed right away the place seemed airier than when he’d been up there last-the day they brought Al home from the vet. He mentioned it to Mickey.

Mickey rubbed his chin. “Stopped smoking inside…because of little cat lungs.”

Ian gave him a big smile. Mickey loved those smiles.

“You should’ve told me you were gay,” Mickey said.

“Why?” Ian asked nervously.

“Because then I would’ve known to do this sooner.”

Mickey kissed Ian, Ian kissed him back, and when the blood stopped rushing to their ears and they could hear over the pounding of their hearts they heard another sound filling the room.

Al was purring.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Fun fact: Hannah at the animal hospital was based on Hannah who ran the dog shelter in A Dog Named Christmas :) Al's fur and markings are based on Spartacus, Noel's real life cat ^..^


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